“I’m waiting.” I could almost hear her tapping her foot on our mother’s kitchen tile.
“Calm down, you piranha. There’s nothing to know. Just some cute guy who keeps conveniently showing up wherever I am. He’s really nice, but he’s just a friend.”
“Why?” She sounded aggravated. “Come on, Eva. You do this every time. Why can’t you go out with him?” she whined.
“Not you, too. Just drop it for now, okay? I don’t even know him.”
“Bring him home winter break.”
Um, no. “I’m not asking a stranger to come home with me for winter break. Be serious.”
“Well, who knows? Maybe by then, he won’t be a stranger.” That time I did hear her eyebrows wiggle.
“You sound like the devil right now. You know that?”
“Mwahahahaha,” she attempted an evil laugh, then added, “Or however the devil sounds.”
I laughed, but the thought of going home made my armpits sweat. I hadn’t contemplated the going back part when I left only a few short weeks ago.
“I’ll follow up with this topic in a couple of weeks, and I expect a full report. You better tell me if anything happens in the meantime, or we won’t be sisters anymore. I’ll cut you off for good.” She covered the receiver, and I heard her muffled voice say, “I’m coming. I’m just talking to Eva.” Full volume resumed as she removed her hand from the mouthpiece and a low voice drawled, “Tell her I can’t wait to see her.”
“Damon says he—”
“I heard what he said,” My knuckles turned white as I fisted the phone.
“Well, we’re headed out to the mall. I love how he pampers me. Time to burn some of his plastic. Love you, sissy. Call me.”
I muttered a weak, “Love you, too,” but she didn’t notice. What else was new?
I arrived at work half an hour before my shift, mind-fuckingly exhausted. This would be rough. Thank you, Blake. Like I didn’t have enough of these nights to begin with. Fortunately for me, I was used to functioning on little-to-no sleep. The quadruple espresso from Starbucks had better kick in soon.
I cut up all the fruit and filled the ice in the beer buckets that lined the inside of the bar. Going around to the other side, I removed all the stools from the top of the bar and then wiped it down until it shined like the Emerald City. Pleased with myself, I turned and began to count the opening cash in the register.
“You’re a pro,” Rick’s voice came from behind me.
“That’s me.” I smiled over my shoulder.
He sauntered behind the bar. “You should have a good night. Friday’s our best crowd. Just holler if it gets to be too much, and I’ll call in reinforcements. Jasmine is on with us. You’ll like her.”
“Don’t worry. I’m good.” I flashed him my award-winning smile, affirming that ‘I got this’.
We fell into the same comfortable rhythm as the night before. He bobbed and I weaved. We sang and danced, tossing bottles back and forth. He wasn’t kidding. The crowd was dense and rambunctious. It was nothing I couldn’t handle, though. I liked crowds. I was used to crowds. Bad things didn’t happen with a lot of people around. They happened when you were alone.
“Hey, sweetheart. I have a tip for you,” came an intoxicated slur.
I looked from some drunk douchebag’s glassy smirk to the dollar bill resting beneath his tapping fingers. Gee, thanks.
He started to slide it toward me, his drooling sneer making me nauseous. When I went to grab it, he mistakenly shoved it in my direction a little too rough. It flitted past me, cascading to the floor. Asshole just wanted to get me to bend over.
I dazzled him with a smile, not taking the bait, and said, “Thank you so much,” and bent awkwardly, trying at all costs to avoid giving him a show.
Ugh, where did that friggin’ thing go?
“Excuse me, miss. I’d like a drink please. I’m mighty thirsty again,” a low, sexy baritone called out from above me.
I bolted upright, banging my head on the side rail. “Ow!” Wincing, I rubbed the top of my head.
“I’m sorry.” Blake leaped forward, concern etched in his face. “Let me see.” He took my head in his hands and moved it back and forth, the way you would examine a child’s wounds, then he let out a relieved sigh. “I think you’ll live.” Still holding my face, he tipped my head forward and kissed the boo-boo on top. “There. All better.”
Or worse. Now I’m on fire.
His hair was wet from a recent shower and falling free, framing his perfect features. His nose still had a shine at the tip, and he was wearing the fitted black T-shirt that did unruly things to my insides. The smell of his soap mixed with his cologne floated toward me and my eyes flitted closed for a fraction of a second, taking in the combination.
This should be fun.
“So, what can I get for you before you give me a concussion?” I asked, still rubbing the sore spot.
A coy grin spread across his face, and he drawled, “I’d love a slippery nipple, please.”